


Look Don't Touch

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You met Porrim Maryam in the porn industry.</p><p>For anyone that knows you or would come to know you, this seems wildly appropriate.  They would also agree that you were quite good for each other, though your first encounters with her made it seem like you would be anything but close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How to Get a Lady to Punch You.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my pretty much my first real piece of fan fiction ever oh god here take it.

You met Porrim Maryam in the porn industry.

For anyone that knows you or would come to know you, this seems wildly appropriate. They would also agree that you were quite good for each other, though your first encounters with her made it seem like you would be anything but close.

You were 23, had recently celebrated Dave’s second birthday and had realized the weight of your responsibility. And, being the responsible big bro that you were, you knew that you couldn’t say in the industry. You wouldn’t mourn the loss, though the industry might. The loss of Dirk Strider the Dick Rider would be felt deeply by all who loved him. You were a legend. So much so that it was possible that this was the best time to leave, at the height of your career, so you would remembered with the strange fondness of any avid porn-viewer as a legend rather than an aging man who lost his touch.

That isn’t to say you hated doing porn, but you wouldn’t mind leaving it, either. You were pleased to be winding down your career while beginning to build up your website. If there’s one thing you’d learned, it was that niche porn sells well, and so does your name. It would also mean you got to spend more time with Dave at home, which was always a plus.

You also didn’t have many friends in the industry, which you’d always preferred and made it easier to leave now, nobody guilting you to stay in. Every friend you’d had had already moved on, by which you mean the only friend you’d had. Jake English was coaching you through the retirement process, and you felt as though you were in good hands. He remains a legend.

You intend to as well.

His first piece of advice was to go out with a bang. Pun intended, you assume. Porrim Maryam, Jake told you, was the best way to do this.

Nobody warned you about Porrim Maryam. 

She was (and remains) an extremely distinctive woman. Porrim possessed a dark beauty, pale skin with dark hair and vivid, green eyes. Tattoos like creeping vines worked lazy curls over her skin, and her numerous piercings both impressed and terrified you (your dick was pierced and so was her lip, you felt that this would be a terrible combination). 

You were struck by her beauty, and by her attitude.

When you approached her to greet her, she looked you up and down with disgust before speaking with you. She was civil but stiff, and the conversation was short. Her eyes kept drifting to your hat, your collar, your glasses, your gloves. She didn’t like what she saw.

After filming and cleaning yourself up, you approach her again. You manage to converse a bit more extensively, and seem to be redeeming yourself in her eyes until you start talking about Jake, and then reputations. You remember the conversation well.

“You know,” you said, with all of your name brand nonchalance, “I’m surprised, because I’d always heard you were a feminist, but you took a pretty good Strider pounding there. Did you get the good fuck you needed to set your head straight?” In retrospect it was probably one of the worst things you’ve ever said to someone, and you won’t try to make excuses, but you’d been spoon fed misogyny from day one. Looking back, you are impressed you never said anything so awful to any of the other women you’d ever worked with. You guess you were always more focused on the men, though.

She looked furious, and beautiful, and you’d never been more afraid of someone as she cocked back her fist and punched you as hard as she could in the eye. And she could punch hard. You staggered back a few steps, trying to blink away the stars in your eyes. Strong hands grabbed your collar, shoving you against the wall. ”Strider,” she growls, her voice low and dangerous, “I don’t like you. You are a disgusting pig. Never come near me again.” She released you and you stumbled forward. The clicking of her heels let you know when she was gone. You declined help and left.

You had the most confused boner. Ever.


	2. How to Get a Lady to Forgive You?

You got home at noon with a slight headache and a darkening black eye. You rummaged through the fridge halfheartedly, trying to find a slab of meat or whatever you’re supposed to put on black eyes. The closest you could find were some hot pockets, so you microwaved one and held another to your eye. You watched the first hot pocket rotate in the microwave, trying to piece together just what happened with Porrim. You gave up on that once the microwave beeped, instead trying to find something on TV. The news was showing stories about cats and high school students running charity marathons, so it was clear that they’d run out of anything of any actual importance. By the time you got bored with a story about the potential dangers lurking in the local park (bullshit) you had finished the first hot pocket and the one on your eye was growing warm in your hand. Gross. You got the chance to think over what you’d done wrong (which was slowly turning from a sound nothing to a doubtful maybe something) again as you cooked that hot pocket. Once you finished cooking that one (you weren’t letting it go to waste hell no) you brought it to the computer and started reading up on feminism. You wanted to know just how bad you’d messed up with Porrim. Pretty bad, it turned out, but something you knew you could fix with a little hard work and determination. Maybe. You decided to ask Jake for her number, until you looked at the clock and realized that you needed to pick Dave up from day care. 

The daycare is close enough to both your apartment and the park that you can walk, which is convenient because the air conditioning on your truck has been broken since the day you got your hands on it. You don’t really like driving anyway. The daycare is run by the Nitrams, a family with which you are very familiar (you went to high school with their eldest son, Rufioh.) They run own the animal shelter next door, which meant that you often had to bring Dave there to pet the cats and dogs before you could go home. Your only complaint was the distinct lack of horses.

When you arrived at the daycare you liked to watch Dave play for a little while. It also gave you a chance to catch up with Rufioh, though that day he was more preoccupied by your admittedly conspicuous black eye. You signed Dave out, then turned back to watching him mess around. He was a popular little shit, and that day he was playing noisily with some wild-haired kid with a short fuse and another with black hair and glasses. They spoke loudly about knights and heir, and what exactly an heir is (“like a princess, but better!”) until Dave noticed you. He waved to you, turned to his friends to say goodbye, and then tottered towards you. You kneeled down to his level and gave him a fist bump. ”Hi, Bo!” he chirped as you gathered him up in your arms, picking him up and holding him on your hip.

“‘Sup, little man?”

“Did you get attacked by ninjas?” He asks, gesturing excitedly to your eye.

“Yeah man, they wanted to take over our sick apartment. It’s okay though, I beat ‘em off.”

You wave to Rufioh before turning to the door. You don’t get far when you notice familiar dark hair and a green dress. ”Strider,” she says amiably from the seats lined near the door, though you figure she’s only being civil.

“Dave, why don’t you run and grab your shoes?” you suggest, placing him on his feet. He takes off towards the other side of the room. You turn to Porrim. ”Hey, Porrim. I uh, I want to apologize for earlier. Did some reading up when I got home. I was way out of line. I really should apologize. So sorry for being a-” you glance around, ensuring that you aren’t within earshot of anyone young and impressionable- “massive bag of dicks.”

She laughs lightly, and it’s delightful though you can tell she still doesn’t like you but she doesn’t seem to hate you either, hopefully. ”Yes, you were a dick weren’t you? Though to be honest an apology on my behalf would be just as appropriate. I always tell Kanaya to use her words not her fists, yet I never seem to remember to do the same in the heat of the moment. So I’m sorry for punching you in the eye.”

You laugh, “I deserved it, honestly. It was a bit of a wake up call, one that I really needed. Smacked some sense into me for sure.” She smiled, closed-lip and emerald green and goddamn if you weren’t careful you’d find yourself falling head over heels for her. ”So did you follow me all the way here?”

“No, you were a surprise.” Dave came back asking for help with his shoes. You obliged, picking him up and setting him on the chair two away from Porrim. As you helped him with his shoes she elaborated, “I’m here for my little sister. She seems to be busy with her little girlfriend so I thought I’d let her play for a little longer. Is he yours?” she asked, gesturing to Dave at the last part.

“Li’l bro, technically. I’m his guardian.”

“Same, for me with Kanaya.” You focused on showing Dave how to tie his shoes again, demonstrating a few times before having him do it himself. You could feel her eyes on you and it may have made you a bit nervous. Instead, you focused on tiny fingers fumbling with tiny laces until Dave got close enough. He looked so damn proud of himself and you were so goddamn proud of him, too. You let him know with a broad smile and a fist bump, before turning to Porrim again. Her smile had diminished into something smaller, sweeter, and you’d assume a bit more private. ”You know, Strider,” she said, giving you an appraising look, “you might not be so bad. What’re you doing this evening?”

Your poker face is betrayed by the lightest of flushes, so goddamn anime, and you curse the manime genes you were blessed and cursed with. ”I was gonna take the little man to the park, you wanna come along?”

“I’ll ask Kanaya,” she said placidly, rising and waving her sister over. 

Kanaya bore a striking resemblance to Porrim. The toddler was sitting in the corner, as she had been when you’d walked in, alongside a young, blonde girl. Porrim tapped Kanaya on the shoulder, and the young girl put her book down, said goodbye to her companion, and followed Porrim. The elder Maryam signed out her sister and, hand in hand, came back to stand a respectful distance away from you. ”Shall we?” You nod, and the four of you leave, calling thank you’s to Rufioh because manners are something Dave needs to start learning. 

You thought that you hadn’t won her forgiveness yet, and definitely not her favor, but she was giving you a chance and that was probably a hell of a lot more than you deserve.


	3. How to Get a Lady to Like You.  Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously what even is relationship development i sure as hell don't know.

The park he took you to was an unfamiliar one. It was located on the other side of town from where you lived, not a terrible area but not the best and certainly not one you had any reason to visit before. But the park was pleasant, old and made of wood and rusting metal with faded, chipped paint. You remember thinking that you’d probably be pulling splinters of paint and wood from Kanaya’s hands later but the children seemed to enjoy themselves there. They’d started up some game, running and screeching until they got tired or bored and retired to the sand box.

You and Bro had taken over the swings, swaying gently and talking about nothing in particular. It was nice, skirting around heavy topics in favor of more lighthearted subjects: current events, the city, Dave and Kanaya’s antics over the years. Both of you knew that there would be time to talk about more difficult subjects, ones that you wanted to discuss but weren’t quite ready for, not yet. But definitely soon, because you were both insatiably curious about each other. You knew you were in similar situations, but you didn’t know how similar. Both of you craved the friendship of someone who was going through the same things.

Bro Strider was slowly managing to redeem himself. It was mostly the little things, the sincere things. He was a surprisingly good parent when it mattered, leading by example and letting Dave figure the world out for himself whenever possible, but helping when it was clear Dave needed it. Bro cared, too. This was clear in the way he spoke to you, how he gently picked around topics that clearly made you uncomfortable. He was gentle, but not babying you. He left you room to offer information and reactions but made it just as clear that you didn’t need to answer. He didn’t think you were weak (you don’t think he could after you’d punched him like that) but he understood that things weren’t easy for you. 

You liked how he spoke, how he carried conversations well. He wasn’t dominating in conversation, just passionate. He seemed so genuinely excited when he talked about his ideas, the robots and the weird porn puppets. Especially the puppets, “because I’ll finally be self-sufficient, it’ll be great.” You respected his innovation and creativity, even if his business was a little odd.

Bro’s mannerisms were charmingly sincere. You don’t think he realized that he spoke with his hands, that when you complimented him he’d take his hat off and run his fingers through his hair. He would lean towards you slightly when you spoke, making it seem like he was truly interested in every word you said. He was funny, and clearly smart, and when it came down to it you realized he truly cared.

You could get used to his company quite easily.

A hazy dusk fell far too soon, cool breezes kicking up that stirred flyaway hairs. Neither of you had said anything for quite a while, enjoying the silence and the creak of the swing set. Both of you were watching the kids, but you could feel his gaze focus on you instead sometimes. Sometimes you would glance at him when you thought his attention was on the kids (this also gave you a good look at the black eye you gave him.) It was all so middle school of you, but it was nice.

The kids came to you at about six, tired and hungry and very ready to go home. Bro obliged, picking Dave up. The younger Strider’s head dropped to his brother’s shoulder, and within moments he appeared to be asleep. Kanaya grabbed your hand and waited patiently as Bro suggested you meet again for coffee. You accepted the invitation, telling him you knew just the place and would call later to tell him the address. You quickly agreed on a time, and set off down the road, Kanaya in tow.


	4. A Little More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how to indicate point of view at this point, so I'm just gonna write it in the notes until I come up with something better. This is from Porrim's point of view.  
> Also I want to thank both erwwehdan and thegreatqueenmab for beta-ing they're lovely people and yeah.  
> EDIT I'll be away for about a month no updates sorry friend

The cafe you had chosen was a tiny little place on the corner of the street you live on. It was a mother and son run cafe/bakery with hands down some of the best pastries you'd ever had. You were a regular customer- it was where you got your morning coffee and a cookie for Kanaya. Your grandmother had been appalled when she'd found out Kanaya was getting sugar so early in the morning, and lectured you for half an hour on the dietary needs of young children. You'd ignored her and kept getting cookies for Kan. You always made her brush her teeth after and otherwise you fed her quite well, so you never saw the harm in it. From time to time you'd help Mr. Egbert out and take his son to daycare for him if he couldn't. He appreciated it. 

Bro wouldn't understand it, but this place meant a lot to you. You were surprised that you were bringing him there since you were savagely protective of the place.

The plan was to meet at four that afternoon. At around noon you pulled out the phone book (something you rarely used these days) and searched for Striders in Houston. He was easy to find, and you counted it as a small victory when you noticed that it was his first name in the listing. It made him seem more normal and attainable, like he wasn't completely lost behind some manufactured persona. You'd half expected him to have jumped through the hoops to legally change his name to Bro. 

You called and left a message when he didn't pick up, letting him know where the place was, then went to get ready. Kanaya was spending the night with your friend Roxy and her daughter, with whom Kanaya got along quite well. 

Time passed quickly after that. Wrangling together everything Kanaya wanted to bring with her, as well as Kanaya herself, took far longer than you ever intended. Three forty-five found you knocking on a door marked with an understated sign. The unassuming placard, however, was marred by looping, tilted letters in eye-searingly bold pink. 

LALONDE

Your knocks went unanswered for all of thirty seconds, then the apartment answered with scuffing, clicking high heels. Moments later the sounds stopped, during the pause you assumed she was peeking through the peep hole.

The door swung open suddenly, spilling fruity fragrances along with the scent of alcohol. Roxy leaned on the doorway, Rose appearing behind her in seconds and offering a polite nod to you. Kanaya took her backpack from you and slipped past Roxy with a swift "goodbye, I love you!" and joined Rose inside the apartment. Roxy watched the girls as they crossed to Rose's room, their heads already together as they spoke intently. 

Roxy's eyes flashed with predatory intent as she turned to you.

"Momma's gonna get laid?" Roxy asked at the door, the corners of her lips curling into a wry smile as she did something ridiculous with her eyebrows. You sputtered for a moment before answering.

"Probably not," you rethought that then added, "I mean no! Stop doing that with your eyebrows."

"I won't stop no eyebrow shenangicans unless you tell momma Roxy what's what with this boy, Porrim. At least gonna tell me who he is?" 

You sigh, "Dirk Strider? His little broth-" She cuts you off with a tutting finger, a regular occurrence with Roxy.

"I know who Dirk Strider is, Dave and Rosey have play dates all the time! Good for you, he can be hard to handle but he's a good guy."

"Don't I know it. Thanks for watching my sister, Roxy. I'll pick her up tomorrow at ten?" 

"See ya then, good luck." She closed the door with a wink.

The open street and the short walk left you with far to little to think about, and nerves began to kick in. You walked slower and checked your watch. You decided to be fashionably late.

You were still not sure what your relationship with Dirk was, whether you were friends or tolerating each other or something else. It frustrated you to no end, this ambiguity. Each step was another across thin ice for both of you. Neither knew what would set the other off. You each had mild respect for each other, something born of a similarity of situations. You respected his attempts at making amends and what seemed like good care of Dave. There were many things you liked about him, but there was a lot you didn't know about him, either. That made you nervous.

He was standing outside the cafe when you arrived, the only greeting he offered was a soft smile and a jerk of his head in your direction. "Hello, Dirk," you said.

"Sup," he returned, opening the door for you, crossing his arm over his body with a flourish to beckon you in. Ironic, you suppose.

Cool air rolled across your legs and played with the hem of your shirt, each step you took inside was a welcome change from the oppressive Texas heat.

"How has your day been?" You asked, merely out of habit.

"Good, I guess," he smirked, "let's skip the repartee. Neither of us are here for that." Some high schooler that worked there for a summer job came around, asking if he could get anything for you. He had more braces than smile, but he smiled at you all the same. Your reply was a polite, noncommittal smile back.

Bro immediately noticed, and he cleared his throat and announced, "I'll take a coffee. Black."

Of course.

"Earl Grey for me," you responded. When the kid left you turned back to Bro, leaning your head in your hand. "I suppose not," you finally answered.

Pause.

He nodded at you. _Ladies first._

"How did you get Dave?"

He laughed, and you watched as he smoothed his face into a perfectly controlled mask. You'd seen him do it before, of course, but it was no less disconcerting now. It had to mean that he had something to hide. Perhaps, even, that he was afraid. 

"I found him," Bro said, "I was just walkin' home some night from some shitty DJ job and he was there."

"So you took him?"

"I knew right when I looked at him he was mine."

You quirked an eyebrow, and he elaborated.

"I think I knew all along that this was gonna happen, though. I mean, I had the fucking shades for him already. Irony, that was how I explained it at the time. Y'know, when I bought them. More like I just fucking knew. I was practically baby ready by the time I found him, just hadn't realized it before. Funny how that works." 

He sighed, but held on to his perfect poker face. "There had to be a reason, so I jumped through every hoop there was so that I could keep him."

"Seems like a bureaucratic nightmare," you replied.

"Tell me about it. It was a whole lot of bureaucracy and sweet-talkin' but I did it. I just couldn't have him in the foster system I guess." 

You thought you noticed a slip in his mask, just a flash of emotion that shuddered through him so quick that if you weren't looking for it you wouldn't have seen it. But you were looking for it. You wanted so badly to know what he was thinking.

"How did you get Kanaya?" He asked with a pointed look. The meaning was clear. _That's enough of that._

"My parents were no longer fit to care for her. I was. I took her out of their hands." you replied, "My father and step-mother were the kind of people who had no business raising children."

"Well, I'm the kind of person who has no business raising a kid either," he laughed, "there are lots of people like that in the world."

"I suppose so."

"You know you aren't like that, Porrim," his face was still smooth, still impassive, but there was warmth in his voice and that comforted you more than you would say, "Kan's lucky she's got you."

"You're kind, Strider, but you also don't give yourself enough credit." Bro allowed a small smile. "You know, you should really get to know Roxy. Rose's mother. Dave and Rose already get along well, I've heard. You and she would too, I believe, if you pursued a friendship with her."

"Roxy? If you say so, I'll chat her up next time we bump into each other."

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, only broken by the arrival of your drinks. You sipped silently, or watched the people pass by through the street window. The silence was thick and seemingly impenetrable.

Then.

"Is it hard?" his dumb shades were on the table, and when you made eye contact you finally understood their omnipresence. Though his face remained impassive his eyes told you everything. Dirk was scared and he was lonely and he wanted to know if you felt the same way. His eyes were so damn expressive and they were beautiful and you felt your chest grow warm as he looked at you. You wanted to laugh. Not at him but at every man and woman he'd ever fucked. Every pornstar that thought that they knew Dirk Strider. Because they didn't know this. They didn't know that deep down he was scared and he was alone. He felt exactly the way you did. You knew for a fact those shades stayed on no matter what the situation.

So why was he taking them off for you?

The implication was a lot to handle, despite not being able to firmly grasp it.

You didn't know how to answer his question, you'd never thought about it. It wasn't difficult, it wasn't easy. It just was. You had decided to be vague.

"I suppose so. Tasked with the inglorious task of child rearing at so young an age is difficult," there was a mischievous glint in your eye, you hoped he understood your own 'irony.' "I manage. She's a sweet girl, and I love her. I'd do anything for her. You understand, though, don't you?"

He nodded, but didn't seem completely pleased with your deflection. Bro wouldn't push you, though.

"But I'm so scared of ruining her and not even realizing it. I'm afraid that she'll be worse off than me, you know?" 

"No I do. I'm so fucking scared I'll do something, anything, and then I'll lose him and he'll end up in foster care. Or worse, I don't lose him and I just fuck him up so bad that he ends up like me." He looked down, took his hat off, and ran his fingers through his hair. When his hat was back in place, he reached for his shades and slipped them on as well. 

Whatever moment you'd just shared was over. He was putting the brakes on. Admittedly, you were disappointed. There were questions on the tip of your tongue but they'd go unsaid until the next time. Just when you felt like you were just getting somewhere. Small talk picked up again, and time started to slip away quickly. 

"Do you do anything for fun?" Bro asked, and you liked the wording.

"I do some boxing, as well as just generally hate men and plot different ways to destroy the patriarchy brick by heteronormative brick."

He barked out a laugh after a moment, and you joined him to ensure that yes, you were joking.

"Seriously," he pleaded, his laughter fading.

"Only the boxing."

Pause.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter to six, I believe. We've been here a while, huh?"

"I'll say." He looked down, silent for a moment. Then, "how 'bout we go out for dinner? Somewhere nice, my treat?"

Through his shades, Bro looked you in the eye, then added, "If you don't mind."

"It's my pleasure, really," he stood up, "why don't you head on back to your place, I'll go to mine. We can get all dolled up and rendezvous at yours. I have a restaurant in mind and everythin'."

"My my, a man with a plan I see. When can I expect you?"

"How about eight?"

"That sounds perfect, Dirk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to actually get this to a point where I like it and I'm still not too fond of this chapter. Oh well. The next four or five chapters should come quickly, I already have them written they just need heavy editing.


	5. You Have Fucked Up Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro's POV yo

Pristine floors and dapper waiters welcomed you into one of the ritziest restaurants in Houston. There was a great deal of irony involved in the selection, and by the dazzling smile she wore, the irony wasn't lost on Porrim. Or she was extremely flattered that you'd drop the cash for her.

As you looked her over (man, she went above and beyond dolled up, she was stunning) you realized that to the uninitiated observer it would look like you were on a date. The idea had your heart racing with something strange and unfamiliar, though not wholly unpleasant. The thought would stick with you for the rest of the evening, an itch in a place you couldn't scratch in public. Metaphorically, of course. Focus, Bro.

Pulling yourself together was easy, but you weren't one to really loose track of yourself, either.

There was a swagger in your step as you approached the man taking reservations. A glinting name tag informed you that his name was H. Zahhak. Zahhak eyed you distastefully, his gaze fixing on the point of your shades. You informed him that you did, in fact, have a reservation under Strider.

You were coming to the conclusion that there was a particular rush to throwing money around. Sugar daddies were starting to make a bit more sense to you, at the very least. Walking into a dazzling restaurant with a gorgeous woman on your arm provided an amazing boost to your ego.

High living at its finest.

Thank god for puppet porn.

A well dressed waiter stepped to your side. A similar, highly reflective (jesus were they trying to take down planes) name tag informed you that this was C. Ampora.

"My name is Cronus Ampora, and I vwill be your servwer this evwening." His accent was strange and thick, his w's and v's were wavering. You tried to place it, but couldn't. Perhaps it was a speech impediment? You felt his eyes dart from you to Porrim, noting how he lingered on you just a moment longer than was comfortable.

Cronus turned on his heels and briskly led you to your table. It was in the back, and as you walked through the dining area the scents of other patrons' meals served as heralds for what was to come. Your normal diet of take-out and microwave meals would pale in comparison. The booth was round and dark in both lighting and color. It was tucked discreetly into the back of the restaurant, no farther from any other table but rounded in a way that cast an illusion of privacy. The wood of the booth was rich and dark and solid, padded with cool, red leather that would no doubt stick to your thighs if the room was warmer and your pants far, far shorter. Like. Booty shorts short. Jake English short.

You took a seat across from Porrim as Cronus distributed menus to each of you. He tried to hand you the drink menu, but was intercepted by your totally hot date. Your waiter shot her a look, then gave up on the cause and asked if you'd like anything to drink in the meantime. "Water's cool for now," you offered. Ampora slipped off and you traded looks with Porrim before smirking. "I know jack shit about wine," you had admitted, "never really needed to, ya know? Shitty beer when you can afford better is hells of ironic."

"I'm sure it is hella ironic. I got this, and it shouldn't cost you too much."

"You're a lifesaver, god," you said, standing, "I'll be right back, gotta use the little robots' room."

"The what?"

"Gotta powder my nose," you had replied, smirking.

Cronus was at the table when you returned, waiting for Porrim's approval of the wine. She gave it, and he turned away again after a brief conversation that you didn't hear. You slipped into your seat, picking up the bottle and poured yourself a glass before looking through the menu. "What are you thinking?"

"That the waiter is a colossal douche," she replied without missing a beat. 

"Okay well I meant about the menu and what you wanted to eat but that works too," you'd laughed.

"Somehow I'm not sorry."

"My question remains unanswered."

"Pushy tonight, aren't we? I'm not sure yet," she took a sip, then stared where she presumed your eyes were, "I'll have what you're having."

You took it as a challenge.

You ended up ordering the lamb and leaving very, very drunk. By comparison, Porrim was only very drunk. A celebration is a celebration after all, and the only way you knew how to celebrate was getting completely hammered.

You took a bus to Porrim's house. You had to leave your car behind, and were planning on going all the way to your house on public transportation, but she insisted that you stay in her guest room (she made this point very clear) after you puked beneath the seats. Honestly you weren't too keen on sticking around until the driver found the mess you'd left.

So that was how you found yourself sitting on Porrim's pristine white couch at midnight playing old-school Smash Bros and arguing in hushed tones. It felt like you were in middle school all over again, only this time you weren't keeping your voice down for parents, but a sleeping child.

Keeping your volume under control was significantly more difficult than you'd expected, though, and when you had walked off the edge for the third time because you were looking at her character by accident, you swore a bit louder than she seemed comfortable with. "Bro!" Porrim had hissed, "Shh!"

"Make me," you'd murmured back. 

Then you glanced at her lips, full and painted green and some kind of drunken confidence steered you forward. The couch was wide and you were seated at opposite ends, you had to bring a leg up onto the couch and lean quite far before you could make it but you crashed your lips into hers and it felt right. The itch you'd been feeling all night was gone, though all you were really doing was pressing your lips to hers. It was exactly what you had needed. 

The kiss was sudden and sloppy, you remember only the feeling of your lips against the thickness of her lipstick. Victory fanfare floated from the TV and you tried to lift one of your hands to the back of her neck, but you needed both to support your weight and keep from falling over.

It was over quicker than it had started, Porrim pushing you back in seconds before standing up.

"Guest room is down the hall," she told you, her voice steady and measured, "the second room on the right. The bathroom is across the hall. You need to brush your teeth." You had flushed when you realized that you had puked earlier and your breath probably smelled something awful. After a few muttered apologies, you'd made your way to the bathroom. You couldn't find an extra toothbrush so you used your finger instead, then slunk down the hall into the guest room and collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh well i tried 
> 
> hi i'm back


	6. Yaoi Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha this is such a cop out i just didn't know how to write this fuck this chapter man

The next morning brings with it a killer hangover and persistent guilt. The sun slants through the blinds, the late morning light accosting your already sensitive eyes, even when you close your eyes. To say you feel like shit would be an understatement, especially coupled with the overwhelming guilt and regret you're feeling. There's a glass of water sitting on the night stand with a bottle of Advil beside it, and that only makes you feel worse (at least emotionally, you do take the Advil and down the water, hoping that you'll feel better later).  
You feel like hell.  
You certainly don't want to have to deal with Jake English and his boundless energy.  
Unfortunately for you, someone has hired a babysitter.  
You emerge from the Maryam's guest room and there they are. Jake's little sister, Jade, is sitting beside Kanaya on the couch, holding a small tub of obnoxiously colored hair accessories. Jake is sitting cross legged on the ground at Kan's feet as she tastefully arranges and decorates it with clips and bows. He sits there passively and asks leading questions about the colorful cartoon they're watching. You watch them for a moment, unnoticed, before Jade glances up and sees you hovering in the doorway. She screeches at you and bounces in her seat, "Mr. Strider, you look so gross! C'mere and let me make you pretty!" You wince at the noise but smile at her (brutal) honesty. Jade hops off the couch, grabbing your hand and tugging you over. You greet Kanaya on your way over before Jade settles atop it again and you plop in front of it with an _oof_ , wedged against Jake.  
"Morning, sleepyhead," he offers, "sleep well?"  
Jade starts to wrench a pink plastic barbie brush through the crusted, day-old hair gel that plasters your hair into shape and you sigh, the pull on your scalp relieves some of the pressure on your headache. Instead of a verbal answer to his question, you just shoot Jake a Look on the assumption that you look as awful as you feel. He laughs.  
"Had a bit much to drink, did you?"  
"That's the understatement of the century, man. Had one of those weirdass- sorry Kan- dreams again, too, and that never helps." Towering spires of a purple city where dead-eyed city dwellers paid you no mind as you wandered the streets, far-off gods whispering in a dead language. As always, you woke feeling worse-off than when you'd fallen asleep. They always had such terrible  
"Funny, I haven't had one in a while, and they never made me feel terrible."  
"We've been over this, man. Yours are all complementary color-swapped. There's gotta be a difference."  
He shrugs, but he looks uncomfortable, like you're digging something up that is best left untouched. You drop the subject.  
Jade yanks on your hair, ordering that you face forward or you'll "ruin everything I've ever worked for!" and you comply. "Is uh," you pause, "is Porrim here or...?"  
"Out" he tells you, "on the town till three, chum. I'm watching the brats while she's out."  
Kanaya objects with a stern "hey!" and Jake apologizes quickly, beaming up at her until she giggles.  
You must have visibly relaxed (though you weren't conscious of being noticeably tense, either) because he adds, "don't look too relieved, chap. I hear what happened, but I promise you there is not a thing to worry about! You shouldn't find yourself in too much trouble. In fact, depending on how little your drinks were affecting you last night and how much of what you did was sincere, you may be in for a pleasant surprise!"  
"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, despite being pretty sure that you know exactly what he means. You don't really want to get your hopes up, though.  
Jake just smiles at you and turns back to the cartoon. "So is that fellow the king?" He asks.  
"Noooo," Jade groans (and Jake smiles, the bastard knows what he's doing) "that's the queen, silly!"  
"You should pay attention more, Mr. English," Kanaya chastises.  
"Will do so, Kan," Jake says, before turning back to you. "In a perfectly hypothetical situation, however, what would you like that to mean?"  
Despite your constant efforts to maintain a perfect poker face, you can't control the rush of blood to your face. "I-it's not like I like her or anything, d-don't be a baka you son of a bitch," you answer, smirking at him. Jake replies with a snort and drops it, but your face stays red for far longer than you'd care to admit.  
Kanaya fixes a lovely green bow to his hair, just above his ear, and pats his shoulder. "Anyway, you're all done and you look really pretty. You're welcome."  
"Do I?" He asks you.  
"Prettiest princess at the ball, Jake."  
Jade seems unhappy with that, and nudges your back with her foot. "Besides Jade," you amend, before glancing at the clock and noting the time. It's 10:45, and you promised Egbert you'd pick Dave up in half an hour. You tell Jade this, and she reluctantly untangles her hands from your hair. You stand up, stretch, and roll your shoulders, groaning unattractively when your back pops. The girls (while giggling) protest and call you gross, and you stick your tongue out at them and burp. This invites another round of protests and their accompanied giggling. You head back to the guest room to check for any belongings you may have left behind. You're glad you did, because your keys are laying on the night stand. You pocket them and head back to the living room, pausing in the kitchenette.  
A notepad and cup of pens grab your attention.  
After some careful deliberation, it only takes a moment to scribble out a quick message. Before leaving, you check it over once more, then drop it on the counter for her to find later. With that done, you call out quick goodbyes to Kanaya, Jade, and Jake, then go to pick up Dave.


End file.
